Friday Follies - As Good as Gold

Tomorrow will mark a great day in our family history - my parents will reach a half century of marriage - their Golden Wedding Anniversary.  I'd like to say wedded bliss, but anyone that's been married knows that the term married bliss only exists in the same world as Prince Charming, one-size-fits-all and suggested serving size.

I'm sure there are blissful marriages, but a good, solid and real marriage takes work, sometimes more, sometimes less, but the rewards definitely outweigh the sacrifices.  In my opinion, if your marriage is blissful, someone is suppressing their feelings.  It is impossible to live with someone and share your lives together without completely getting on each others' nerves at times.  Spouses should challenge each other, be a place for safe, heated and great debates, and should tell you to pull your head in when you are being a dick or a prima donna.  In these throwaway and disposable times, it is so nice to know that people do believe in commitment, integrity and unconditional love.

Awwww.

Long marriages are such a rarity, in fact, that they even get recognised by the Queen in Commonwealth countries.  Mum and Dad will have to stick it out a bit longer though - Lizzie only sends out a message for 60th, 65th and 70th wedding anniversaries.  In fact, the Queen might have to send a message to herself - she and Prince Philip have been married for 65 years.  With all of the pressure in their lives, crazy work schedules and public scrutiny, I think that is amazing.  You can still see that twinkle in their eyes when they look at each other.

The world's longest recorded marriage is 86 years, 9 months and 16 days for Herbert and Zelmyra Fisher.  The marriage only ended because of Herbert's death at 106 years old (which is remarkable in itself).

Rudolph and Jean - whoops!

At the other end of the spectrum, the world's shortest Hollywood marriage on record was between Rudolph Valentino and Jean Acker.  As she would not let him in to the honeymoon suite, he gave up after 20 minutes and went home to start divorce proceedings.  They didn't put much work into that, did they?

Don't think that it is just the younger generation think that marriage isn't forever and something to be shed like the season's latest fashions.  The oldest couple to divorce were 98 years old, ending a 36 year marriage.  I'm not sure who was more pissed off at who - Bertie or Jessie Wood - but imagine going to all of that trouble just shy of your 100th birthday?  Why bother.  Of course, Bertie may have left the toilet seat down one too many times, or thought that his Jessie would really love those one-size-fits-all jeggings that he purchased on late night TV.  Divorce proceedings are understandable in those circumstances.

Glynn and one of his many wives

Some people love to be married and would curl up into a lonely and sad ball if they had to be alone.  One such person was Glynn Wolfe.  Glynn, a Baptist minister, holds the record for the largest number of monogamous marriages - 29 in total. His longest marriage was 11 years and the shortest was 19 days.  Marriages number 1, 8, 9 and 23 ended due to death (the wives, not Glynn's), while the rest were due to divorce, with one annulment. The last marriage was over due to his death in 1997. Even with 29 wives, 19 children, 40 grandchildren and 19 great grandchildren, no one collected his body after his death.  I think there may have been a reason for all of those divorces, don't you?

We were fortunate enough to grow up in a stable (I use stable in the 'solid' sense, not in the mental sense!) family, and all of our parent's friends and our friend's parents were in long term, committed marriages, with divorce being extremely uncommon. I am forever grateful that I was raised with these examples of relationships as it has given me the tools to enjoy and nurture my own marriage.

Happy 50th Wedding Anniversary, Mum and Dad!

For some links to some marriage advice from people that have been married for a long time, click on the links below.

https://www.fatherly.com/love-money/relationships/marriage-advice-from-old-couples/

http://bigthink.com/ideafeed/old-couples-tell-researchers-the-secrets-to-a-happy-marriage

  

The secret to success.....

When You Know Egg-sactly Where You Want to Go

Electra in her natural environment

My hens have decided that laying their eggs in the chicken coop is not always the best choice.  I think the dogs have something to do with it, as Chamois seems to know that she can snack at the egg smorgasbord during the day when she hears the hens' 'announcements'.  My girls realise that their eggs aren't safe, so then choose somewhere new and less obvious to lay their 'bum-nuts' (there is some Australian vernacular for you Canadians!).

It is a weekly challenge to find the new favourite laying spot.  You would be surprised at how hard it is to find these secret stashes in the garden.  Suddenly you notice 16 eggs hiding under a shrub, or a nice little nest nestled in the centre of a grassy plant.  Unfortunately, once you find one of these spots and raid it, with the bottom of your t-shirt turned into a handy carrying basket chock full of yummy chicken goodness, the hens decide that it's not a safe spot any more and move on.  And the hunt begins again.

As you know, chickens like to sing the song of their people after they lay an egg, and are quite proud of the fact that they have yet again produced this item from their fluffy little bottoms.  Upon hearing such songs, I drop whatever I am doing in the house to try and find the secret place.   The tricky little girls have usually started their announcement away from where the incident occurred, and I am no closer to the treasure.  It is so frustrating - you can walk around and around the same part of the garden and not find anything, and then a week later happen to glance over at a different angle and voila!  Eggs...and lots of them.



Tee-hee, another Star Trek meme



All of the eggs-hausting sleuthing has led me to egg-streme measures and turned me into a bit of a stalker.  The other day I went to feed the chooks their kitchen scraps and top up their food, and Electra was running back and forth, desperate to be out and free-range.  When I let them out, unlike the other hens who started clucking and scratching at the ground for tasty morsels, her little legs were working like pistons as she headed up the yard like a kid with a turtle-head poking out (you know what I mean).  'A-ha', I thought, 'Electra is on a mission.'

As I started to follow her, she noticed what I was doing, and promptly stopped to stand innocently in the yard. 'Nothing to see here' was what she was thinking.  Okay, two can play that game.  I stopped following her and looked nonchalantly around the yard.  Clearly fooled by my great acting abilities, she started back on her trek.

Electra & Sesame

This game of cat and mouse (or human and hen, if you will) continued up the yard, past the house and into the top garden, with plenty of stops and starts along the way.  I was being tricky peering around the corner of the house, my eagle eye peeled for any sign of her sneaking into a hidey-hole.  There was a slight panic when I lost sight of her, but I found her again.

Snuggled deep into some ornamental grass, she wiggled her bottom into a comfortable position and tried not to look at me.  I left her alone - this egg-laying business can take awhile and now I knew where she was.  Of course, she knew that I knew, and I knew that this nest would be abandoned after today.  But I was egg-static - I found a great pile of eggs when I went back later (and yippee, I beat that bloody dog to them too!).

Fortunately they do return to vacated nests after a period of time, so my circuit of egg-checking becomes larger and larger as I add new locations to my list.

I must keep my eye on Electra for other reasons as well.  She disappeared last December for 3 weeks - we thought the neighbour's dog had got her - and then re-appeared with a lovely little flock of chicks.  Which means she had an egg-cellent hiding spot somewhere in the yard.  I'm onto her now, and if she disappears again, we'll be scouring the foliage for that particular fowl.  While chicks are great, dealing with unwanted roosters is much too stressful for me.  So I will continue my egg-hunts, and continued to  njoy our tasty, free-range organic bum-nuts. 



Friday Follies - Don't Toy With Me

Shiny and sparkly!!!

A Facebook post popped up in my newsfeed the other day.  It was from a group that posts things from the past - 'do you remember...'.  This particular post was about Lite-Brite.  Boy, did that bring back some memories.  I loved my Lite-Brite and I remember playing with it all the time.  I still have quite an affinity for sparkling, bright flashy objects - perhaps my obsession started there?  Then again, I remember staring at those sparkly rainbow stickers that would change colour depending on the angle of the light.  They were big in the 70's and I'd stare at them for hours (it's okay, they've done tests, I'm not mentally challenged, I just am distracted by sparkly things.).

Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star

I started thinking about other favourite toys that I had during my childhood.  The more I thought about it, the more I remembered.  I've listed some of my favourites below.

According to my parents, my first baby toys were a beer can and a tobacco tin.  That may have laid the foundation for my teen years, but that discussion is for another day.  I can remember a few favourite toys from my toddler/early childhood years.



The record player was a staple in many houses in the early 70's.  I can't recall the tunes that it played, but I am pretty sure it would have been nursery rhymes.  It used to fascinate me how it worked.  They must have been well made because I don't think we were gentle with it at all, we may have used the 'records' as Frisbees, I don't know for sure. 

TinkerToy was another big hit in our house.  We would spend hours joining the bits and pieces together.  I don't think we made anything particularly creative, but looking back I imagine that most things built resembled a model of a molecule.  Lots of fun, and WAY less painful than Lego.  

My brother had the Fisher Price garage (Fisher Price made great, sturdy toys, didn't they?).  We had hours of fun with this, and it went well with the Matchbox cars that we got when we were a bit older.  I believe that some of these are still in the possession of my parents, and they are still a hit when little kids come over.  The original cars were solid steel, very heavy and could really take a beating (or just about take out an eye if you winged it at your sibling...who we all know deserved it anyway).  We had all sorts of jumps set up and created many daredevil tricks.

Pretty in Pink

Camping anyone?

Moving on to the more 'girly' toys, of course there was Barbie.  I had the Barbie Corvette, and Barbie and GI Joe would travel together in pink perfection.  We also had the Barbie Camper - I can still remember the smell of the vinyl.  In fact, some of the promotional stickers that we have at work have the same smell, and I have been busted sniffing them....oh, the shame!


Another favourite of mine that I did not own, but played with religiously at a friend's house, was the doll head that you could put make up on and style her hair.  We used to play with that for hours.  I knew early on that I was 'hair illiterate' and could not master anything more complicated than a ponytail.  Maybe if my parents had given me one for Christmas like I begged for every year, I would have better luck in the styling department....but I doubt it.

Looking good, Miss Barbie



As we got older, the games changed.  We played Operation, fought over the Atari, made pretty pictures with Spirograph and drove Mum insane with Simon.

 

But there was one toy that brought great joy to our house - the slot cars.  Dad loved giving us slot cars, and we'd spend hours setting up the tracks and having races.  I can still smell that distinct electrical odour that the triggers gave off as you eagerly tried to beat your opponent.  The only problem was that when Dad had his friends over, we all got kicked off the track and, from the sounds of it, a lot of beer was consumed and a lot of good-natured competition ensued.  I suspect some of our toys were never really meant for us in the first place - our parents may have chosen games that they enjoyed too. 

Race anyone?

I wonder what kids of this generation will remember when they are our age?  I hope they have some memories like this, and not just memories of screens.



I'd Like to File A Complaint Please.

"I'd like to file a complaint please."

 

If my pets could speak English, I'm pretty sure that this statement would cross their cute little lips several times a day.  This is not a judgement on my pet-parent abilities, it's perhaps just a gentle nudge to let me know that there may be room for improvement.

My pets are spoiled, there is no arguing with that.  Not spoiled in the way that they are allowed to be overweight and unhealthy, or that they have complete run of the house (okay, this may apply to the cats...but we all know that they have their own set of rules), but just that they are treated with a lot of love and attention, and I like to keep them happy. My husband wishes he was my pet....

If I had to analyse it, I think the top complaints to Management would look like the list below.

1.  You are much too slow with my food. 

This complaint comes mostly from the cats, who run back and forth vocalising to get my attention, but it could just as easily apply to the dogs.  Even if they have been fed, those little brats will approach the pet owner that didn't feed them and start carrying on about how they are STARVING and how no one has fed them.  They are liars and not to be believed.  I'm sorry if that sounds harsh, but we have been tricked more than once into feeding them a second breakfast or dinner, and I fear that we will fall victim to their wicked ways a few more times.

2.  Why do you not get up from the lounge to let me out the minute I even decide to think about going outside? 

This is the cats, obviously.  I don't think the dogs think that far ahead.  Clawde is known for going in and out and in and out and in and out, and that's just in the space of half an hour.  If you do not bend to his will, he starts jumping up on stereo speakers and then pretending that he is going to jump up on the big TV. That works - we get up and swear at him, but he gets his way.  I suppose we'll have to do better in the future.

3.  Why do you not wake up at 2 am to let me back in/out?

Not Clawde, because he does this at 3 am and I'm too asleep to grab my phone.

Again, mostly Clawde.  If I don't immediately wake from my slumber to open the door for His Majesty, he jumps up onto the sliding screen door, hanging on with his claws and climbing up and/or down, making the most hideous sound.  Yikes, that works too (except when I've clipped his nails, then I hear a very satisfying 'thunk' as he lands back on the floor...ha ha, one point to me!).  If I don't get up to let the dogs out the minute that they leave their beds, there is the rhythmic beat of their tails on the walls to wake me, and then the not so subtle doggy-breath face wash.  Yes, that gets me up too.

4.  How dare you make the bed without my assistance? 

Excuse me??  Are you making the bed?

As you have guessed, this is mostly Purrkins, who takes great delight in helping me out with any housework, but particularly bed making.  See below for the look on his face when he discovers that bed-making has occurred without his management.

5.  Your cuddles today have been a bit sparse. 

An upside down dog is a cute dog.

Yes, that worked well.

All of my pets like lots and lots of cuddles, except perhaps for Chamois, who is quite an independent dog.  If Manu has not been receiving as much attention as he thinks he needs (just a heads up, he never receives as much attention as he thinks he needs!), he will let you know that he is WAY too cute not to cuddle by laying upside down in a room.  It may not be the room that you are in at the time, but he knows that you will have to walk by him at some point.  Upside down bellies always get scratches eventually - you just have to lie there long enough.  Purrkins is much less subtle and will plonk himself onto your lap, no matter where you are or what your are doing or if you are allergic to cats (poor Shawn!).  That cat is a problem solver.



Chamois says she can do upside down too.

6.  Why is the chicken coop not open and our freedom granted?

The girls get louder and Harvey Henbanger crows louder and longer.  Eventually I cave in and they get to come out.  They cluck away and admonish me as they run up the yard, chasing bugs and tasty delights.

After much thought, Management has reviewed the complaints and would like to take a neutral stance.  While these may seem like big issues to the non-humans, Management believes that the complainees should go out into the real world and see how other cats/dogs/chickens live.  Management believes that the residents have a pretty good life and really don't want for much.  As they say, if that's all you have to complain about, life is pretty damn good.

 

 
 
 
 

Friday Follies - Some Fatherly Advice



With Father's Day looming this weekend (in the Southern Hemisphere), I thought it might be a good time to reflect on fathers, because, well, we all have them in one form or other.  Whether they be still with us, no longer with us, present, absent, biological fathers, stepfathers.....we all have them.


Cute!



I've only ever had one father in any form, so I can only speak to that experience.  My dad was always full of 'fatherly' advice, as I'm sure yours was too.  I wouldn't say that it was always good, but it was always there and definitely plentiful.  You didn't have to ask for it either, it was freely given.

Recreation of me winning a fight
with my brother

I think as a small child, the advice you get is fairly basic (and probably not always true...you see, my face DIDN'T freeze that way, thank you very much) and often revolved around safety and manners.  Don't touch that. Say please.  See if you can figure it out yourself first.  Don't hit your brother in the testicles, it's a sensitive area on a boy (yes, I remember that one.  I'm not sure if the result was what Dad intended, but it did clue me in to the fact that if I wanted to win a fight, I should knee my brother in the nuts.....  Thanks Dad!).  And so on.....

As I got older, the advice changed and became more age appropriate.  I usually did quite well in school (I didn't dare not to - both of my parents were teachers), and would get quite upset if I bombed a test or didn't get assignments handed in in time.  I can remember in junior high school, I had a particular English teacher that gave me 60% on every assignment and exam, no matter how hard I tried.  Previously, I had received excellent marks in English (again, Dad was an English teacher, what could I do - although I think he cringes at my use of language these days.) and had teachers that encouraged me to investigate professions such as journalism (Dad was a journalist too early in his career...oh dear!).  I approached Dad to help me with my English class so that I could get better marks.  No matter how hard I tried - 60%.  Dad was getting frustrated too, so being a Shakespeare fan, he did one of my assignments for me.  Guess what?  He got a 60%.  Dad's advice after that was 'Screw it, just do your best.'  I did, and never got better than a 60%.  Thanks Mrs Batey.

To be or not to be 60%

And then the teenage years hit, and quite frankly, my Dad's advice was not welcome.  I pretty much viewed him as someone who didn't understand and would never understand.  Now that I know the stories from his wayward youth, I probably should have listened to his advice and might have saved myself a lot of pain.  But we have to learn our own lessons, don't we?

As I slid ungracefully into adulthood (the teen years were not my best), I realised that this old guy actually knew what he was talking about.  He was still full of shit, but he knew what he was talking about.  He has taught me not to worry about the small things, just do my best and it will all work out.  He has taught me that it is more than okay to fail, you need to fail to grow.  He has taught me the importance of family and friends, and that you don't need a lot of friends, as many will come and go throughout your life organically, but there will always be some very true friends.  He has taught me how to expect to be treated by a man and that I am worth something.

Perhaps one bit of advice he has given me always gives me a giggle.  It's not appropriate for every occasion, but I do like to pull it out of my hat once in awhile.  "A faint heart never f**d a pig."  Eloquent, to say the least.  So take that risk, face that challenge, because you need to be brave, and even if it doesn't work out, at least you tried, and that's more than some people ever do.

Thanks Dad, and Happy Father's Day to all the fathers out there in all of their wonderful forms.  And Happy Father's Day to all the pet-parents too!.



Happy Father's Day!